


Dance with me

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heavily inebriated Weasley should not attempt to accept a highly-suspicious dancing invitation by a certain sloshed Slytherin… right? After all - it was in the form of a blackmail, what good could possibly come out of it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capitu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu/gifts).



> This was a part of the [Ron/Draco fest](http://ron-draco-fest.livejournal.com/) and it would be a miserable mess without a super-speedy beta-job by [bleedingangel84](http://bleedingangel84.livejournal.com) who worked even when I was lazying about in the sun of the West coast USA. I'm totally smothering you in hugs, one day, babe... :)  
> It was done in about a week - as I had to abandon my other story with no hope of finishing it in time - and meant as a present to the wonderful [capitu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu) as a b-day present. As we say in the HP fandom: A very HaRRy b-day, darling! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters are borrowed, stolen, whatever - you choose, whatever doesn't land me in jail - but definitely not mine... :)

“Dance with me.”  
  
_Huh?!_  
  
Please, mind my jaw lying on the floor. You'd be stunned, too, if the ever elegant Draco Malfoy, your arch-enemy since before you were born, appeared before you out of the blue, obviously drunk as an ape, ordering you to swing him about the dance floor. Uhm…  
  
Actually, scratch that. He can barely stand, and I’m afraid to test whether I can either. Nope, there will be no swinging in any direction but where the gravity takes us. Erm, that is, if I was even considering the idea. Which I’m not. Totally. Not. Nah.  
  
“You need to get up and dance with me,” he repeats stubbornly, because he clearly got his fangs into this ridiculous idea in his drunken haze, and he refuses to acknowledge the sad mental state he’s in.  
  
“You… need to sit down,” I tell him in a happily slurred voice, though still more graciously than I feel. You’d never guess a Weasley would be out to save Malfoy’s dignity, but there you go. I’m not myself when I’m looking at the world through half a bottle of Ogden’s finest. Now, don’t you go judging me too much! It’s not every day your best friend on the entire planet is marrying your sister, while you’ve just fallen victim to _“irreconcilable differences”_ with the girl of your dreams. That’s what you call it when your girlfriend walks in on you, wanking to an… er, unspecified male arse in a Quidditch mag, rather than a pair of tits. We’re still friends though. That’s because my Hermione is a saint, and she forgave me for being a clueless, misleading idiot. A very gay idiot, to be precise...  
  
“Ouch!”  
  
I can’t believe I said that out loud… but the skinny bastard poked me! Oh, god-fucking-damn, you walking bleach advert! Try eating from time to time, you… pathetic human clothes hanger! Those needle-sharp claws, seriously… I’m a redhead, I bruise easily! You’re so lucky that I got sloshed too early and can’t trust my legs… and that this is Harry’s wedding and I don’t want to cause a bloody scandal! I’d love to make a wizarding specialty “Pâté-de-Snotty-Blond” out of you! Mind you, I’m nowhere near eloquent enough to say that out loud, though, so _“ouch”_ it is…  
  
“Get up and dance with me… now. Or I’ll sit in your lap and embarrass you.”  
  
I kind of choke on my own tongue a little. The cheeky, slimy bastard! And they say he’s reformed! The _fuck_ he is. Look at him blackmail me with no shame, like a proper serpent!  
  
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” I tell him, trying to stall, desperately hoping to activate my sluggish brain to help me get out of a trap, set up by a mad, bad, drunk Slytherin.  
  
“Not yet,” he points out with surprising clarity. “For now we’re just talking – no one can tell any different. But I can’t stand on my own for much longer and I need to hang myself on someone. You’re the only one tall enough. So get up – or do I need to start counting?”  
  
I’m kind of outraged, if you don’t mind me saying so. Here I am, sitting at what the press is calling _“the wedding of the century”_ , minding my own business and brooding happily… well, perhaps a bit gloomily, but that’s beside the point… And then this evil bastard comes along, and ruins what little peace for lamenting my fate I’m left with! Which idiot invited him anyway?!  
  
_“One – ”_  
  
“Which idiot invited you anyway?” I blurt out in despair.  
  
“I came as Parkinson’s date,” he explains smoothly. “You know she’s Potter’s new secretary. Rumours say she poisoned a few candidates to get the job, but that’s just bollocks. She was always shit at Potions. Probably paid – or screwed – someone to get it, that’s more her style. But she’s been gone most of the evening – too busy trying to make Longbottom’s fiancée jealous, I imagine. And as you know very well, I’m not exactly Mr. Desirable around here when I’m on my own. I’ve been little better than a bloody pariah since the war and no one sane would be seen getting all chummy and jolly with me. So, not to have the evening go to waste entirely, I decided to test the quality of wine. Excellent stuff; give Potter my compliments. Now, where were we? Ah… _Two –_ ”  
  
“My brother Bill’s quite tall!” I whimper, too alarmed to think straight, and I have the immense pleasure – NOT! – of seeing his mouth stretch into a smirk.  
  
“I might be drunk, Weasley, but I’m not stupid,” he says slowly. “And I’m certainly not suicidal. With his werewolf reflexes and his wife’s Veela temper… I reckon I have better chances ending up as _a meal_ than a dance partner. Suit yourself. _Three._ ”  
  
“All right, _JesusMerlin_ , all right…” I make a hurried effort to stand up before his bony arse ends up in my lap to god-knows-what result, but my bones seem to have gone liquid and I probably look like a hippo attempting to tango. “Hold your horses, you mad idiot, or I’m going to topple us both over,” I mumble miserably to stall his vicious intentions.  
  
I’m none too stable when I’m finally up straight, I’m afraid. Why the hell did the stupid Earth pick today of all days to spin with twice its normal speed?! But before I know it, his arms are behind my neck and he leans into me… puts his head into the crook of my neck and all, and it’s a near perfect fit. I’ve got a bloody treacherous neck; why does the bastard need to be so accommodating?! And now I sort of don’t know what to do with my arms unless I want to stand there like a clueless gorilla, so I cross them at the small of his back… and, yeah… er… I kind of a little bit pull him closer, I think… uhm, by accident.  
  
Merlin, he smells good. Er, I mean, he doesn’t… his hair does. It’s the shampoo, not Malfoy. Malfoys don’t smell good. Nope. Erm… I bet some don’t. And they also don’t have bony arses, it seems. Uhm… yeah. No, definitely not bony. Kind of… tight… and curved… and a perfect fit for my hands… Gryffindor’s lacy knickers what am I doing?!  
  
“Weasley… when was the last time you got laid?” he whispers and there’s that warm breath of air tickling my ear… ohhh… I can almost feel the soft outline of his mouth touching the outer shell, and I think I mewl a little… Bloody hell, my capacity for embarrassing myself is certainly off to a thriving career tonight!  
  
“None of your bloody business,” I mumble against the softest, most silken hair I’ve ever touched and… oh, I bet that shampoo’s been tampered with. Smells like a bloody aphrodisiac or some such… _“Death of a Weasley”_ would be an appropriate title, if it doesn’t have one yet. I’m nowhere near drunk enough for this. And unfortunately, my dumb caveman Weasley libido knows that all too well. The insatiable – and sadly, a bit starved – bastard, woke up and now it wants to play. I know that tingling sensation in my nerve endings all too well… Oh, no, you don’t!  
  
“You wanted to dance, so let’s dance,” I hiss stiffly, desperately clinging onto the last of my dignity. “I’m going to slowly lead you across the floor, towards the entrance, and then you can disappear into the crowd. You can thank me tomorrow. Or never. Never would do just fine.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything at first, but then his fine… er, nevermind that… his arse moves under my fingers, and he rolls his hips into me… _Jesusfuck_ … That’s not even… who dances like that!? I’m… oh, this is embarrassing… He’s all tight against me, pressed against all the right… oh, I mean, wrong… wrong… oh, fuck it, _right_ places, and he’s all pliant and warm in my embrace… Merlin, why am I such a sucker for hot, pliant male bodies… just one… my first one… this one… rubbing against me with next to no reserve and I’m so… very… hopelessly… _hard_. And so is he. Merlin’s legendary rod, Draco Malfoy is hard for me, and I’m… oh, fuck, I’m so screwed...  
  
“What are you doing?!” I squeak, in the last attempt to ground him a little. But you try being all reasonable and clever when you’re panting, and have to focus very hard not to moan out loud. Merlin, it’s been too long… And never with the right… gender. But this… _wanker_ is. For all his vile qualities, Malfoy is the right gender for me, and how the fuck did he ever guess that?!  
  
“Dancing,” he murmurs in my ear. “Just like you asked me to.”  
  
“This isn’t dancing…” I try to tell him, but my poor, confined cock hits his body at just _that_ angle at that very moment, and all that comes out of my pathetic mouth is a garbled _“nnngggghhh”_.  
  
“We could, of course, be doing something else,” he whispers and I think… fuck, I think he just licked the shell of my ear, and my wobbly defences happily melted and poured down to my softening knees.  
  
“Merlin, you two, get a room!” someone throws at us, sounding flabbergasted, thus confirming my suspicion that we look _nothing_ like we’re dancing. But it’s sort of too late now because there’s no longer any doubt that his mouth is toying with my earlobe, and if a fucking mountain troll did that, I’d fuck him, too. That’s how much I love it.  
  
“C’mon, Weasley… You’re practically leaking down your leg already. You can’t tell me you don’t want it…” he murmurs, and when the fuck did his voice turned so husky?! He’s practically fucking me with his sultry voice alone, and my breathless, _“Shit… no… yes”_ , is a clear testimony to the befuddled, chaotic state of my mind. He’s right. I want this too damn much. My balls feel like they’re on fire, and they’re so heavy they might just burst if I don’t get any… soon. Oh, fuck soon… _now,_ bloody now is too late!  
  
“I’d love to suck you off,” he whispers, and this time I _do_ moan. Great, Weasley, let the world know what a ravenous cock-whore you are! Only I can’t stop myself, can I? The image of Draco Malfoy gagging for my cock is definitely my ultimate poison. Who knew? Oh, fuck it, of course I knew. I’ve been wanking to that image since I was 14. I’m a pervert. Clearly. A desperately horny one.  
  
“I came here for you tonight…” he pants into my ear, and the very decadence of the implication knocks the breath out of me. I _love_ the idea of him as desperate for this as I am. “Pans told me you… changed teams, and I’ve been thinking of nothing else since. Been picturing myself on my knees in front of you… a lot... all the time. I just want to get my mouth around that fucking monster cock of yours… and worship it until you’re spilling…”  
  
I hear myself whimper feverishly, _“JesusMerlinfuck, hold on…”_ , at the same time that I catch my sister’s incredulous voice: “Ron?? What on Merlin’s Earth…?” – but I’ve already Disapparated us, and I can’t even think of what I’ll be coming back to. This is too urgent. Too bloody urgent.  
  
~  
  
We don’t go far. I would have splinched us both into little noodles in my present state if I had to think any further than _bed-private-fuck_. We end up in the master bedroom of a brand new house Hermione and I bought just weeks before we discovered that my “passing interest” in men wasn’t so passing after all, and was stubbornly refusing to go away after a mere ten years or so. Clingy bugger.  
  
Oh, I love this bedroom. I hated coming out just because it lost me a chance to use this glorious large bed before we could ever test it properly. But now, it seems that I’m going to get my chance after all. With Draco Malfoy. Right. How come I’m not running away screaming at the very thought?  
  
Perhaps because his warm, soft mouth is upon me before we even appear properly, and he tastes like heaven. It’s not only the smell of his hair that’s delicious; it’s also that creamy tongue that melts straight into my mouth and takes my breath away until I’m dizzy. Oh, I love it how eager he is… I’m a bloody Weasley, all right? I’m always going to want to have more sex than my partner – but it’s shockingly good to finally be with someone who’s so very interested in me… Fuck it, men shouldn’t have to beg for sex; and with this particular man, it seems there’d be none of that. Draco Malfoy loves kissing; that much is clear… and I think it’s pretty obvious he loves sex as well. Who would have known? Only my dirty imagination got it right.  
  
As lithe as he is, he’s surprisingly strong and… I guess I don’t mind him on top this once. Oh, bloody hell… His tongue is absolutely the best thing I ever had in my mouth, my mother’s cooking included. And now it’s moving down my neck, and it’s driving me crazy beyond words. I love the male musk flooding me as he slides down my body, and the very idea that I’m finally _with a man_ , is just fucking mind-boggling. It does all kinds of crazy stuff to my cock thinking that that man is Draco Malfoy.  
  
He tears my shirt apart – I guess the rich bastard can afford to buy me a new one – and makes a surprised sound at the sight of my chest. He had to know about the serpent and lion tattoo, right? And yes… yes, I know this nipple-piercing was perhaps a bad idea for rebellion – it sure felt like one when the pain hit – but… _ohhhh…_. Perhaps not such a bad idea after all. The little metallic dragon with his tail wrapped around my nipple seems to like his mouth… love it, even… and Draco Malfoy seems to like toying with it. Jesus, can a person orgasm from having his nipples licked?! Because it feels as if I’m about to. I love his teeth scrapping the hard, wet peaks. I love his tongue soothing the pain. I love the sight of him sucking first one, and then another little nub into his mouth and closing his eyes, like he’s feeding on the sensitive flesh. Merlin, I…  
  
“You’ve got the world’s most delectable nipples, Weasley,” he murmurs against my skin. “Let’s see what else on you is delicious.”  
  
And I watch his head sink lower down my body, lavishing attention on every inch of skin with that luscious, warm mouth that somehow comes with a map to all my most sensitive places. He makes it feel so easy, finding all my vulnerable spots that make me push my fingers into the silken, golden hair more tightly and try to keep him in place… because it just feels so damn good, having someone touch me. Oh, god… it’s only been a couple of weeks or so since I’ve been on my own, but it feels as if it’s been ages. And it never, ever felt this good with Hermione. Oh, and I don’t even think it’s because she’s a woman. I doubt there are many out there, male or female, that could compete with Malfoy’s silken, skilled tongue. Oh, Merlin, yesss… _right.fucking.there_.  
  
“Fuck… yeah… right fucking there,” I growl when his adept fingers finally discover the absurdly tented mound in my pants and begin rubbing it with no mercy.  
  
“I know where it is, you lovely idiot,” he mumbles just before he begins mouthing the fabric… and he’s already forgiven for calling me an idiot… Oh, yeah… so forgiven… because if he’s going to keep this up, this idiot is going to shower that smug face of his in a geyser of come, and mess him up good and proper. You know… to get back to him. Not because just the bloody thought nearly makes me shoot my load.  
  
Oh, _sweetJesusfuck_ , that’s the manhandling I’ve been after my whole life… The incredible pressure, the masterful touch… I don’t want that too-gentle fiddling about, that cautious rubbing and reluctant licking because the fucking book said it was sensitive. I want someone who _knows_ that it’s bloody sensitive and how fucking great that is.  
  
Just look at him discovering my cock… I watch him opening the zip… and find out I couldn’t be bothered with pants. See those hungry grey eyes grow wide… notice that soft mouth fall open in surprise. Oh, he’s utterly fuckable… He bloody _purrs_ at the sight of my cock jutting upward before him, hard and purple, with a melting crown of pearls at the top … I guess he wasn’t kidding about that worshipping bit.  
  
“Weasley…” he says, and his voice is strangely gruff, as if it’s holding back an emotion he’s got no words for. And then he licks me. Slowly, with delight. _Ohbloodyfuckyes!!!_ I swear, my hips just fly off the surface of the bed, but he intercepts them with those long, adept fingers and pins me down. He licks me again, and I’m trapped and at his mercy… And he looks me in the face and whispers: “Ron…”  
  
I don’t know what it is – that daring look as if he’s breaking new, tender ice between us… that soft, warm breath teasing my sensitised, weeping cock, or just the way he whispered my name… like it was private… and something special… Whatever it is, I just _keen_ at the sound of it, like he said something ultimately _right_ and good… And he says it again, very softly, _“Ron…”_ , as if he loves saying it… just before he lowers his head, sinks down my cock and begins sucking me in earnest. _Jesusfuckyesss…!!_ I’m… I’m… I don’t know what I am, if not undone… I never knew it could feel this good… so incredibly intense… so uncontrollable.  
  
Oh, my fucking god… at this rate I’m going to embarrass myself in under a minute… because Draco Malfoy and his damning mouth have got _exactly_ the thing I’ve been craving all these years. I can’t stop myself from moaning out loud, from thrusting into his mouth as much as my trapped hips will let me, from whispering my deepest, darkest wishes of how very much I want this… I’ve always wanted this…. with him, of all people. And I can’t stop my stupid, bewitched mouth from spilling those stuttered, feverish endearments – how gorgeous he looks with his mouth stretched around my cock, and how incredibly divine he feels. The glorious wet heat of his tight, silken mouth engulfing my cock completely was my idea of Heaven and that tongue… oh, _that tongue_ … someone give this man a degree in cock-sucking…  
  
“So fucking close…” I try to warn him in the tense voice of someone going down the road of no return, because in spite of my initial desire to ruin his perfection, I’m just too fucking well-mannered not to give him a fair chance to avoid it, all right?! But he doesn’t move away as I imagined he would. He simply offers me one last, luxurious lick from the root to the tip, his tongue swirling around the bursting shaft as if saying goodbye to the swollen, desperate flesh, and when he reaches the tip, he kisses it, lightly, gently, with just a bit of suction, as if making love to it… and I just lose it. I feel the hot load of come shooting up my cock with no way to stop myself... and I howl his name:  
  
“Draco!!!”  
  
_I shouted out his bloody name._ Oh, no… That’s the last thought I have before the brutal intensity of release makes me see black, and I’m swimming in a vast Universe of Perfect. This is… so much better than _anything_ I’ve ever felt before… I’m not even sure it’s from this world. How could Draco Malfoy, of all people, make me feel so bloody good, so incredibly ecstatic that it’s almost a mystical experience?! I try to cling to the waves of boneless bliss flooding me, but like a gentle tide they are slowly dissipating and the world is slowly coming back to focus. And I don’t want to go back just yet.  
  
But he’s still kneeling before me, watching me intensely with darkened, nearly anthracite eyes, and when I meet his gaze, he whispers a single word: “Beautiful.”  
  
Then I notice his chest heaving and his nostrils flaring, and I finally realise he hasn’t come yet. That’s… so not him. Why did he take care of me and not himself? I lift my arm slowly and let my fingers walk down his naked torso, feeling his surprisingly warm, most silken skin under my touch. His skin feels like liquid magic, moving and responding under my fingers, and when I let my fingers wander across the hard bulge in his pants, he moans quietly, helplessly.  
  
“Have you ever done this before?” he wants to know, with urgency in his voice. “Tossed someone off… someone other than yourself?”  
  
I shake my head silently, because I haven’t. I’ve never laid my hands on an actual living man outside of this insane, surreal experience, and for some reason that seems to do something to him.  
  
“Jesus, Weasley… can you get any better?”  
  
He groans, and I think he likes the idea of me being so inexperienced. Well, he’s the only one. I certainly don’t, and I’m eager to rectify that sad, inadequate state of affairs. Even if this is Malfoy. My fingers don’t seem to care; they just want to feel that hot, hard bulge again and wrap around the swollen flesh desperately tenting the finest in Italian fabric. He lets me open his trousers, seek him out, and run my fingers down the velvety hardness. I’m just so… fucking _mesmerised_ … This is the best feeling ever. I _so_ want to own him.  
  
“No,” he says in a strained voice, and his long fingers intertwine with mine for a second, before he removes my hand from his cock. “Not now. I can’t. Next time. We’ll do this next time, I promise. Take it slow. I’ll show you everything, teach you… just… not now. I need this too much now.”  
  
It strikes me that perhaps he doesn’t want to remember having a Weasley’s hands on him… but his voice is almost pleading, and he doesn’t sound like his usual arrogant self. Perhaps it’s the drinks doing this to him, but I’ve never heard Draco Malfoy sound like this before. So even though I’m disappointed, I respond to the sense urgency in his voice, and I nod. Whatever this is, I want to let him have a go in whatever way he needs to.  
  
He takes himself in hand, and he moans as those long fingers slide up and down a shaft full of come. He begins wanking in earnest… and I like it. _GodMerlinfuck_ , the sight of Draco Malfoy wanking should be forbidden. He’s too fucking gorgeous to be legal. My breath hitches, watching him like this, and my cock recognises its poison. Well, if I can’t toss him off – I might as well wank myself. I’m not about to miss my one chance of living out my filthiest fantasy, am I?!  
  
I slide my fingers through a pool of my own come under my half-hard cock, and I’m startled by the animalistic sound he makes. I look up, into his eyes… and read what he wants, how he wants me. I sink my fingers deeper into my own juices and smear them across my torso, taking my wet fingers all the way up to my erect nipples and bathe them in the transparent liquid. He’s panting deeply now, like he can’t stop inhaling my scent, and when I dip my fingers into what’s left of my come, take it to my mouth and run it across my lips, he makes another one of those deep guttural sounds that speak of deepest, most ravenous need.  
  
“Ron,” he says. “Ron, please…”  
  
I suck my fingers for a few long, lingering moments, during which the hand tossing him off becomes nothing but a blur, and then I let my fingers slowly wander to my nipples. I pinch the one with the nipple ring because it feels so fucking good to walk the edge of pain – and I let my other hand seek out my cock. I nearly close my eyes from the ecstasy of that touch and I let out a sigh right before I begin wanking. And the litany of desperate words that pour out of his throat in a dark, needy voice is fucking unbelievable:  
  
“Oh, _Christ… fuck…_ Merlin… Ron… so beautiful… so fucking hot… so incredibly… fucking… hot… _pleasefuck…_ ohgodyes!!!”  
  
He comes all over me. Literally. And he’s to die for. With his back arched backwards, tense like a bow, the silken river of blond hair spilling down his back, and _that cock_ pouring all over me, gorgeous enough to worship, he’s… yeah. I’m not even thinking when I pull myself up quickly and let my mouth find his shaft to taste his juices. Oh, my god… _Oh, my fucking god… yessss…._ I’m licking him clean because I like it so very much… and because it feels as if I’ll never come again if I don’t have this memory of having Draco Malfoy in my mouth. And he doesn’t seem to mind, if he’s aware of it at all.  
  
While his fingers thread through my hair, he’s whispering mindless filth mixed with senseless endearments I never thought I’d hear the haughty blond utter, and it doesn’t even feel like I’m with Draco Malfoy, my bully and tormentor throughout the Hogwarts years. It feels as if I’m with someone who… chose me, who really _liked_ giving in to me… and I cherish that thought more than I should. So I shut down my rational mind, that’s shouting at me that this is only a beautiful illusion, and it’s about to get painful. I pretend we have no past, and I let myself just have this moment.  
  
He lets me lick him clean and watches me come again into my fist, and I feel his breath hitch when I do. He grunts like he’s got something to say to that. But I’m finally too boneless to give a damn, and I let myself collapse back onto the bed. And because at some point I’ve put my hands around that lovely, oh-so-not-bony arse of his, I take him with me. I have a passing thought that I’ve just “cleaned” him – though it wasn’t exactly _Scourgify_ , was it? – and now I’ve messed him up again with not one, but two, loads of my come. Surely that’s bound to result in acid remarks by Mr. Meticulous in my arms.  
  
Only… he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t slap me or call me a “barbaric beast”; nor does he attempt to hex me. He’s just lying there, on top of me, still a bit out of breath, and my thunderous heartbeat seems to resonate in his chest. Draco Malfoy pushes his head into the crook of my neck and sighs as if he’s _happy_. So I summon the blanket and let it last. I close my eyes, allow myself to doze off and drift away… and I have the strangest dream imaginable: it’s me who’s getting married, and there’s Draco Malfoy, my groom, asking me for a dance. Mental, I’m telling you. I’m even mad when I’m dreaming.  
  
Of course he’s gone when I wake up. I expected no different. And if my chest is tight with disappointment, it serves me right for being a naive sucker. The way this day is going, I should seriously consider replacing all my body parts: my inconveniently accommodating neck, my treacherous hungry mouth, my stupid chest, harbouring the silly heart of a romantic 12-year-old. I hung out too much with Lavender Brown in my youth, I’m telling you.  
  
Well, there’s nothing for it now. I haven’t been sleeping for long – I must have startled myself with that idiotic dream of marrying Malfoy – so perhaps there’s still time to catch the good part of Harry’s and Ginny’s wedding. I’d love to see the happy couple say goodbye to the guests and endure all the dirty puns and… yeah, I’d be happy to be a part of that. And I definitely need more booze. I have no idea where my jolly state of drunkenness has gone off to, but the bitch isn’t here, doing what she’s supposed to, and I’m beginning to feel miserable again. I tell myself I’ve got no time to get lost in the pointlessness of my empty existence, so I Dissapparate before I can remember wondering where Malfoy is and if it meant anything. I _did not_ just think that. Nope. Never.  
  
~  
  
“Ron, what in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?! Snogging a man – at my wedding! A Malfoy?! Are you out of your bloody mind?!”  
  
Yeah, look, I’ll be the first to admit that my silly mind sometimes paints me a far more favourable picture than the reality turns out to be. You see, I tend to pretend that I’m _liked_ by my family, if not exactly appreciated. I know that on this occasion, it was a bit of a delusion, but surely, ignoring my existence at this wedding wasn’t too much to ask for?! Pardon me if I didn’t quite expect to be yelled at by the lovely bride upon my return. I should have. She’s my mother’s daughter after all. But, stupidly enough, I kind of imagined she’d be busy with other things _on her bloody wedding day_ , not pacing about, muttering curses like crazy Bellatrix reincarnated at the renegade best man – which, according to a hastily whispered warning by Harry, had happened in _a lot_ in the time I was gone.  
  
The second I Apparated back to the wedding and landed right in front of the dancing newlyweds – perhaps, er, toppling them over a bit – yeah, I knew I was in for it. Damn, I’ve got more bad luck than Moaning Myrtle on Friday the 13th. Harry – bless his soul – looked slightly amused, and not a little relieved. I reckon that’s because he could never really warm up to that dancing business. But Ginny… oh, boy. A bloody thunder cloud – in colour _and_ volume – doesn’t even begin to describe her. She should really tone it down a little, or I might get more press coverage than she does!  
  
“Look, Gin…” I try, but she’s not done yet, and I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of getting a single syllable in that would make a difference. It certainly doesn’t help that I feel guilty, er, nope. I was a royal arse once again, obviously, nearly ruining my sister’s and my best mate’s wedding with my antics, and all because I cannot keep my rampant gay cock in my pants! And for what, I ask you? So that Draco Malfoy has a story to tell his drinking buddies after they’re getting tipsy on expensive whiskey after a fancy dinner?  
  
I am a fool, she’s right; and the silent compassion I see in Harry’s eyes during her tirade is woefully misplaced. I deserve what’s coming to me, so I keep quiet. Let her call me what she wants, it’s her wedding anyway. I’m a big boy, I can take it. Whatever she has to say doesn’t hurt as much as the fact that she’s right.  
  
_“Using you for his perverted purposes”, “just wants to hurt you”, “hopes to ruin our wedding”_ comes up in her monologue and it just makes me feel further depressed and gloomy. But when she hisses something about _“this gay thing making you dumber”_ , Harry feels the need to interfere.  
  
“That’ll be enough,” he says kindly, but firmly, and my sister’s jaw just hits the ground.  
  
“You’re not going to take his side again, are you?!” she says with disbelief and disappointment in her voice. “You _always_ take his side! He nearly ruined our wedding, and still you’re taking his side!”  
  
“I’m not…”  
  
But Harry’s attempt to calm her down is interrupted by an icy, lazy drawl:  
  
“Would you look at all the commotion… what did I miss?”  
  
Malfoy. Shit. He couldn’t have come at a worse time. Ginny was about to deliver a hefty litter of kittens, but with him around, it might be a nest of dragon eggs instead! So why the hell am I so absurdly… stupidly… inexplicably _happy_ to see him?  
  
“None of your bloody business!!” my sister hisses with vigour, demonstrating how clearly overjoyed she is to have found another victim no one could object to. “Go and ruin someone else’s wedding, snake!”  
  
“If you’re so desperate to get on the magazine covers with something other than your overly-expensive dress and your famous husband, I suggest you yell louder,” he hisses coldly. “I just saw Rita Skeeter run after Astoria Greengrass to ask that _classy lady_ for some fashion tips for page 11 of the Prophet. But if that’s not the case, I suggest you go back to doing what you do best, you _little ginger bully_ : kicking your own brother when he’s already down. You’re well aware – and readily using – the fact that he’d never kick you back with full force, because you’re his baby sister, while you show him no such grace.”  
  
“Shut up, you… you… Death Eater…” Ginny doesn’t even yell that last bit; she hisses it through the clenched teeth. I think she finally realised that all that fuss she was making regarding my unfortunate comings and goings attracted more undesirable attention than she was ready for, and now she’s desperately trying to rectify the situation. But Draco Malfoy is not someone you shut down with an insult, sister dear – that’s how you encourage him.  
  
“Like I said: no grace,” he points out dryly. “And since you clearly have none – perhaps you should try gratitude instead. Everybody knows Potter would not give you and your brutish demeanour another glance if you weren’t your brother’s female clone.”  
  
No one could have missed her gasp. _No one._ And the fact that she just blanched to an unflattering shade of a fresh marble gravestone that makes her wedding make-up look cheap and overdone doesn’t improve the situation either… And it just feeds Malfoy’s glee, I can tell. I see the icy silver glow in his eyes from where I’m standing, even if he’s not even looking at me, and I know he’s not going to stop at that.  
  
“What?! Why the shock? Long red hair, milky skin, freckles, long legs… tell me I’m wrong,” he looks at her with that haughty, cold-hearted smirk that I still remember nearly ruined whatever wobbly self-esteem I possessed in my teenage years.  
  
“You know…” he continues with obvious sarcasm, “There could be two interpretations of who was _“the one he’d miss the most”_ , given who was in that lake during the Triwizard Tournament – but you aren’t either of them. In my estimation that puts you at a humble number three on Harry Potter’s Favourite Humans list. I suppose the top two spots are already taken.”  
  
Shit. Er… shit. Everybody heard him. _Everybody_. He made sure of that. Ginny is just standing there as pale as old porridge, looking like she might be sick any moment now, and Harry… well, he certainly looks upset, but he also looks guilty as fuck – and that isn’t helping.  
  
Look, er… I know I should be telling the blond snot to get the fuck out and stop ruining my sister’s wedding, but I’m… I’m… hardly anyone’s ever stood up for me like this before, all right?! Even if he’s only doing it to ruin her special day, and he’s only using me as a tool to do it – no one’s ever fought for me, not only against those who hate me, but also against those who should love me. Not openly, not the way he did. I… my tongue is completely numb, but my heart is doing three hundred beats a minute. I’m so hyper that my vision is swimming. I can’t stop thinking of what we were doing less than an hour ago – and that he came back to me – for me? – to save me. Draco Malfoy stood up for me against my own sister. Tell me there weren’t crazy mushrooms on those canapés.  
  
“Shut up…” Ginny finally whispers in a shaky voice, and only when I realise there is a hint of genuine tears in her voice do I wake up from my stupor. And I’m completely torn apart. I can’t have a crazy blond git run around and wreaking havoc at my sister’s wedding… but I can’t force myself to hex him good and proper either. He took my side. The only one. I do what I always do when I don’t know what to do… uhm, yeah.  
  
“Harry….” I look at my best mate pleadingly and let him decide.  
  
“I suggest we all cool down,” Harry says at long last, still looking uncomfortable, but sounding as if he made up his mind. “You were both out of line. I imagine it wouldn’t rub anyone the wrong way if Ron was spotted kissing a girl… but I’m with Hermione on this one, Ginny. It shouldn’t matter who Ron finds happiness with, and if Hermione could accept it, I guess you should, too. And Malfoy – I don’t care who invited you, but this is my wedding, and you can’t treat my wife this way. You’re _hardly_ the one to talk of grace,” Harry looks at him pointedly, but I suppose being a Malfoy comes with the added bonus of arrogance: the blond doesn’t even flinch.  
  
“Your wife shouldn’t have picked on my boyfriend,” he says matter-of-factly… and it takes a moment of absolute silence for me to understand… that he’s talking about _me_.  
  
Breathing is totally overrated. Erm… I stare at him – and he stares back quietly. There’s a small smirk in the corner of his mouth, and the way he’s looking at me, is… yeah. I suppose I feel… _wanted_. And that’s a first. I have no other words to describe it, though I’m sure there are subtle shades of emotions in that smile that are beyond my vocabulary, and only Hermione could probably put them into words. Too bad Australia is a bit out of the way.  
  
“I was just looking out for my own,” he murmurs – and I can’t help the sudden smile stretching my lips. I have no idea when and why I was promoted from a… er, casual fuck to the status of a boyfriend, but I just realised that I liked it. _My boyfriend Ron_ sounds so much better than Ron, my casual fuck.  
  
“Your boyfriend… You can’t mean Ron?!”  
  
Ginny sounds alarmed. I imagine her mental picture right now is one of awkward Sunday lunches at the Burrow with Malfoy throwing icy jabs at the ginger peasants around him, who, in turn, make it as unpleasant as possible for him to endure the occasion. Er… I’m sure it won’t come to that. Surely we’ll break up way before any lunch is due… or something. It’s not like we’re meant to be, right? It’s just that… I’d like to _belong_ once again, if only temporarily. I always liked that bit, being with someone, like, officially. So I don’t have to struggle with non-standard labels, such as… uhm… casual fuck. You try introducing him like that to your mother. Oh, I can just imagine the dread: _“Hey, Mum, here’s Draco Malfoy, my casual fuck.”_ Yeah… like that could ever end without all the freckles being knocked out of me!  
  
But Draco Malfoy doesn’t follow the horror scenarios evolving in my head. He simply looks at my sister and asks leisurely:  
  
“How many other openly gay wizards do you know?”  
  
Ginny doesn’t reply. She can’t, actually, because - well, because there’s nothing to say, to be honest. She knows as well as I do - as we all do - what the answer to that is. To the best of my knowledge, yours truly is the only one who volunteered to step forward. Well, not _volunteered_ , exactly... but you know, if Hermione volunteers you, you nod enthusiastically all the way. Not that it matters. Malfoy has his answer, and he smiles coldly.  
  
“I believe I’ve made my point. This one – your brother, _who loves you dearly_ – is the only one brave enough to have come out. He’ll inspire people… and he’ll be up for grabs as soon as the word comes out. I decided to get my foot in the door early.”  
  
“Oh, stop the charade!” Ginny erupts unexpectedly. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you can’t expect me to believe that you just turned gay at the sight of my brother here! He’s not even…”  
  
“Oh, _do_ share what your brother _isn’t_ , in your _esteemed_ opinion!” he interrupts her, sounding uncommonly agitated, and he once again looks menacing. “ _All that handome? Worth it?_ What?? Perhaps not if you’re his sister, no… but I beg to differ. A bloody sex-god on endless legs, if I ever saw one. With a mouth _to sell my soul for_ to boot,” he proclaims with certainty, as if stating a scientific fact. I think they could probably make fifty different shades of sunset out of my face right now. I can’t even look at him, or I’d… I’d… oh, I don’t know! I might punch him, or I might jump him, or both… because I’m kind of desperate to get my hands… and mouth, on him _right.fucking.now_. Any place – or excuse – will do.  
  
“Actually – I think you’re right,” he murmurs. “I think I must have turned gay just for him. Just look at him… that lovely blush… those sparkling eyes… _that_ mouth… honestly...”  
  
His hand is around my wrist before I can blink and when I finally _do_ look at him, there’s a hungry glint in his silver eyes unlike any I’ve ever seen before.  
  
“Come, Weasley. You’re going to have to excuse us, lovely people. I have a promise to fulfil, and given what it was – I think I’d rather do it in private. Or do you disagree… _Ronald_?”  
  
Uhm… I don’t have much to say at this point, surely you can understand that. My cock is already at half mast, and if my trousers were as shredded as my carefully hidden shirt is, it would be happily waving hello to everyone present. I manage a feeble _“sorry”_ to Harry, who’s almost as red in the face as I am, and looks as if he’s about to burst from laughter; and I try a sheepish grin with Ginny – but that one was a lost cause from the get-go. I’m so glad I’m not the one who has to spend his _“happily ever after”_ with her – the huge bollocks Harry has, they should have their own country, anthem, and a stamp!  
  
I feel the tug of Disapparition before I can ponder on all the gloom and doom I’m about to get from my friends and relatives in the days to come for another one of my dumb, incomprehensible choices – and once again I find his mouth on mine before we even reappear side by side. Oh, boy… he sure knows how to deal with my anxiety… I guess this is one thing you eat, lick and kiss away. Who knew? Oh, I’m so screwed. I think his mouth… this lovely, filthy mouth that tastes like smooth, dark sin, is very possibly a remedy for all my troubles – one I no longer know how to do without.  
  
“Were you ever really drunk?! And what’s up with that boyfriend business?” I pant into his mouth, because I’m dumb that way and a master at ruining a moment, in case there was ever any doubt about that... But… I guess I’d really like to know where I stand, because… because I’m so fucking stupid when it comes to my heart, all right?! I’d go and fall for him or some such nonsense, and he’d just be toying with me… And if the boyfriend business was just to shut my sister up, and he really doesn’t want any more than a thorough fuck… I guess I’d like to know.  
  
“Don’t be absurd. Malfoy’s don’t get drunk. We get… bold. And about the other… thing… I thought _fiancé_ sounded a bit rash…” he whispers against my ear, taking my breath away, “…but I’m willing if you are,” he adds when he’s already busy sucking on the tender skin on top of my collarbones and I’m… He feels so… Oh, bloody hell, if he asked me to marry him right now I’d probably say _yes_.  
  
“Boyfriend’s fine… Merlin, Draco…” I gasp, and he purrs into my ear at the sound of his name.  
  
“Say it again,” he whispers. “Say my name again. You make it sound like it’s made of sex.”  
  
“Draco…”  
  
“Yesss…”  
  
“Fuck me, Draco.”  
  
“ _Merlinfuck_ , Ron… I might have to marry you.”  
  
~  
  
So, uhm… just for the record: I was wrong. Er… of course I was. With my “enviable” track record of _“oops!”_ and _“bloody hell, that wasn’t meant to happen”_ , that was to be expected, but… well, it was a bit _unexpected_ what I was wrong about. I expected to be wrong about the boyfriend business, and I kind of anticipated it would all go to the dogs within a week or so… you know, after the mad, bad and wonderful sex wasn’t so mad and bad anymore, and we’d come to realise we had nothing in common.  
  
But mad, bad sex only got madder and – er, badder? – and definitely more wonderful. So, er, it might have taken a couple… uhm, quite a few… terrible rows to establish our boundaries and the fact that we’ve grown… er, quite fond of each other. But, in the end, it was after one of those mad, bad, awesome episodes that my vicious, beautiful blond _boyfriend_ of some months by then, rolled over next to me, pulling me possessively to him while stealing the better half of my blanket, and whispered in my ear: “We’re getting engaged. I’m not risking losing this. We’ll talk dates later, but feel free to alert your family.”  
  
Just like that. Can you believe that?! How am I supposed to marry such a sneaky Slytherin snake?! There’s still spirit in this tamed Weasley! It was not the fact that I had no say in it – I kind of got used to that bit during Hermione’s reign, yeah? – but that wasn’t… well, it wasn’t very _romantic_. So I complained. But, erm, _by pure chance_ , my complaint was misunderstood as looking for an excuse for another epic fuck, and one was promptly delivered… So, er, I might have shut up after that and embraced my fate. I sort of didn’t want to lose what we had either.  
  
So I’m a cheap sucker. Shut up. You haven’t been inside of Draco Malfoy’s delicious mouth and up his divine arse – and I have. More times than I can count. As a declared addict to Malfoy’s arse I _know_ what I’m on about. Like every addict in the book.  
  
Anyway, a few awkward and, uhm, _eventful_ family dinners later – during which a certain blond’s hair was hexed blue and a certain redhead went to sleep with another ear missing as well, and both conditions were rectified by the morning – there came a traditional Christmas dinner. And that one went rather differently. A Weasley jumper with a large “D” in the loveliest aquamarine colour was presented as a peace offering by my puffy-eyed Mum, and after a single stern look from the matriarch of my family, directed at everyone present at the table, I just knew there would be no more pranks.  
  
Except for the ultimate one. Because my boyfriend – by that time holding the status for over a year, to the shock of many – my mad, bad, and dangerous boyfriend promptly put on his Weasley jumper, went on one knee in front of me, and asked me to marry him on 1st of March, my birthday. Needless to say, I was shocked out of my skin.  
  
I mean, we’d been engaged for a couple of months, but… but… it kind of didn’t hit home _what that meant_. So, I’m a bit slow with certain things… uhm, relationships in particular. I didn’t really find words at first, but eventually my mum’s unrelenting bawling in the background contributed to the temporary loss of my sanity and, idiot that I am, I said yes. I’ll never forget how he looked at me. _Radiant with joy._ Blimey… I never thought I’d see Draco Malfoy look like that. Look _at me_ like that. I kind of went numb and kissed him afterwards. I had to find a way to hide my shaky fingers in his hair, and keep those trembling lips busy, and those blasted tears from… erm… you know. I’d never hear the end of it.  
  
So here I am today, still the same idiot, dressed to the nines, and scared shitless. It’s the morning of my wedding and they shouldn’t have left me alone. I’m considering eloping. With me, myself and I. What if this is going to be one horrible mistake?! I’m such a moron; I make mistakes all the time! Why would anyone want to marry me? Why would Draco Malfoy, the epitome of class and style, want to marry me, the troglodyte in fancy robes?! Was he hexed during the war to fall in love with the biggest fool he’d ever meet? What if…  
  
“Precious... they shouldn’t have left you alone,” the long elegant arms wrap around my waist from behind, and my husband-to-be snuggles up against me. “I could practically _hear_ your panicked thoughts all the way out to the corridor. You’ll drive yourself spare, love.”  
  
Just the smell of him, the wonderful exquisite scent one has to be born to, is enough to loosen up the tight constraints of panic around my chest. I inhale his wonderful musk, his soothing confident presence deeply, and I’m instantly better. He presses a tender kiss to the back of my neck and… look, I know this really isn’t the moment, but that kiss holds all kinds of magical powers over my cock, and… uhm, yeah, you know, I’m a Weasley, I have no excuse.  
  
In one last, feeble attempt to redirect my body’s attention to matters of more importance, I mumble something along the lines of _“How do you know that we’re not about to make a horrible mistake?”_ , but that stubborn, horny fucker I have for a body is selectively deaf and only wants to hear about things that make it happy. And my soon-to-be-husband’s kiss makes the very top of that list.  
  
“Don’t be silly, darling…” he murmurs against the shell of my ear, and I’m slowly losing whatever control I thought I had. “I put my Weasley jumper on for you when I proposed, didn’t I? If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is! But if you insist… how about I chase your worries away, good and proper, hm?” he purrs in my ear unexpectedly, and before I know it, Draco Malfoy, my groom, my favourite crazy person in the whole wide world, is on his knees in front of me, making short work of finding a very… er, protruding point of his interest. I don’t think a blind bat on sleeping potion could have missed that one.  
  
Merlin, he’s… oh, yeah… I’m so persuaded… so _very_ persuaded… oh, bloody hell, I’m certain! How could this ever be wrong?! I’m marrying this guy and _that mouth_ in half an hour – and suddenly, _I can’t bloody wait_!  
  
“Draco… yessss!!!” I roar when I empty my anxiety, my doubts, and about six litres worth of come into his wonderful mouth. And though I’m certain they must have heard me in bloody Alaska, I repeat the _“yes”_ and add _“I do”_ , in a just a bit lower volume, in front of the Wizengamot official, giggling Harry, and about 200 guests later at the ceremony, just to make sure. I’m still in a sort of trance when I feel Draco slip the ring on my finger, flashing a brilliant smile like he was just given the best present. But once he leans in for a kiss, one of those I can’t live without, tasting of sparkling love, sweet promises of the future, and uhm, a bit of me – it hits me with full force: bloody hell… I’m a married man now!  
  
As I stand, rooted to the ground, blinking like a newborn baby into this new reality, the music starts to play in the background, and my husband takes my hand and looks me in the eye. With a sweet smile and a mischievous glint in his hypnotic silver eyes, he whispers those very fateful words once again: _“Dance with me.”_


End file.
